°Amy’s POV°
It had been almost three weeks since Christian left.
Three weeks of texts that came in bursts — pictures of his dorm, random updates about the cafeteria food, and how his roommate snored loud enough to “vibrate the walls.”
I laughed at his messages, sent emojis, told him about home, about Grandma Lydia, about the baby — but there were still those quiet hours when his absence felt like an echo that didn’t stop repeating.
Still, I was okay. Or trying to be.
Mostly.
***
“Now, remember, Amy,” Grandma said one morning, adjusting her glasses and pointing her wooden spoon at me like it was a weapon. “No overworking yourself, you hear? You’ve got enough going on in there.” She nodded at my stomach.
I smiled. “It’s just part-time, Grandma. Four hours a day. I’ll survive.”
“You
